Page 6 of Sweet Venom
And this guy just calledmeannoying before he went back to pummeling Dave against the wall.
I’m the annoying one.
Me.
The crunching of bones tightens my stomach, raising the bile in my throat. Dave’s blood splashes on his shirt and the wall, and the dots of red look black under the flickering light. Like an ancient curse.
My drunkard neighbor groans and tries to resist, but his uncoordinated movements do nothing to halt or even slow down the stranger’s assault.
I’m transfixed by the view, trembling as I push further into the wall, the solid surface digging into my back as the air assaults my tightened throat.
Violence isn’t anything new to me. I’ve witnessed it in spades and have been on the receiving end of it more times than I can count. But this is the first time I’ve seen anyone being so…calmwhile they’re beating the shit out of someone.
Laser focused, even.
As if his sole purpose is to dismantle Dave limb from limb.
I can only see the stranger’s back, but even that feels like a disturbance. He’s tall, at least 6’4” or 6’5”. I’m 5’6” and still feel like an ant behind him.
But it’s not only the height.
He’s broad and muscular, as if he’s carved from stone, and his fists strike powerful punches.
I don’t like overly tall or extravagantly big men.
Actually, I stay away from all men by using my invisibility tactic.
It’s simple in my mind—dress shabbily, lower my gaze, don’t speak too much or draw attention.
The formula Mama gave me has worked most of the time.
Not with this man, though.
Because not only has this one been following me, but he’s also beating Dave because of me.
The ridges of his big muscles strain against the leather as he lifts his fist.
Thwack.
He lifts it again.
Thwack.
Blood drips from his glove, forming small pools on the dirty concrete as Dave squeals like a pig being slaughtered.
His fight and his voice wane, but the stranger is still punching and punching andpunching.
A rush of apprehension ripples through me with each of his hits. The horrendous sound fills the turbulence in my head with red.
“Stop it,” I say in a small voice, tracing my wrist tattoo. “You’ll kill him.”
The stranger doesn’t pay me any attention. I doubt he even hears me.
I take a hesitant step forward, physically pushing off the wall with my palm because, all this time, I’ve been trying to become one with it.
Logically, I should go home. Leave both monsters to battle it out in the darkness, but I don’t want to be the reason behind someone’s murder.
I tap the stranger’s arm that’s still grabbing Dave by the collar. Blood trickles down, staining the white shirt crimson and coating the black glove in a dark, sticky mess.
